In Vino Veritas
by Psamathe
Summary: Spoilers for Episode 3.2. Gene only had one reply to his dating agency questionnaire...
1. Chapter 1

It was all bollocks, Gene Hunt decided as he tried to keep his attention on his pint and not on the door to the restaurant.

Love was the invention of greeting cards and crap Hollywood blockbusters, it didn't exist out here in the real world. Passion, lust… they were real emotions, but they faded soon enough and you were left with nothing but divorce papers and bitter memories. Love was something that happened to other people no matter what do-gooder Elaine whats-it said. Bloody good kisser though, he grinned to himself.

Now, in a moment of brutal honesty, Gene wasn't so sure that the woman he was supposed to be meeting hadn't arrived, taken one look at him and fled. Desperate enough to answer his dating agency questionnaire but not desperate enough to actually sit and have dinner with him.

Gene had to admit that he didn't look his best. Shit had hit the fan forty-eight hours ago and he hadn't been home since. His suit was rumpled, he hadn't had the time to shave and he suspected that there was a spot on his tie that might well be blood. It was no wonder that the snotty waiters were looking down their noses at him.

The door to the restaurant swung open, and despite himself, Gene looked up only to see an elderly couple enter. He returned to his contemplation of his beer.

Bloody women. Bloody Bolly. She had him wrapped around her little finger and she knew it. As soon as she had started wittering on about being scared of women, Gene had risen to the bait and arranged this farce. Now here he was, sitting on his own in an expensive restaurant like a pathetic loser.

Dear God… this is what it felt like to be Ray.

Well bollocks to this. Gene drained his glass and stood to leave, only for his gaze to fall on the woman who had just walked in. Long legs, great arse, nice tits… a dress that left just enough to the imagination… and she was walking towards him.

"Sorry I'm late," she smiled.

She sounded a little out of breath, as if she'd been running, but judging by the height of the heels she was wearing that couldn't have been the case. Fumbling a little, Gene pulled out a chair for her to sit down. He retook his seat opposite and signalled to the waiter.

"Sir?" the young man asked, not nearly so patronizing now that he saw the company Gene was keeping.

"Another beer for me, " Gene grinned, " And a glass of Sauvignon Blanc for the lady… but make sure it's from the South Island of New Zealand. "


	2. Chapter 2

**This was originally a one shot but, after many months, I suddenly decided that I wanted to continue with the story :)**

This wasn't going well, Gene realised as he watched his dining companion sip at her wine. That had been his first mistake… ordering New Zealand wine in this place… he should have known better. Even the small talk had dried up within the first few minutes. His carefully prepared list of questions had been wasted because he already knew all the answers.

The restaurant had been her choice and just one look at the menu was enough to convince him that she was having a laugh at his expense. It was in French. All of it. And after searching in vain for something that came with pomme frittes he realised that he couldn't understand a bloody word. He'd had already sent the waiter away twice and now the snotty young man was standing by, pen poised and there was no putting off the evil moment. Gene knew that protocol dictated that he should order for both of them and she was looking at him expectantly… probably waiting for him to make an arse of himself.

Okay, so he knew she wanted fois gras to start. He could manage that; he'd just have to eat the same. Gene took a deep breath, opened his mouth and…

"Hope we're not interrupting anything?"

Gene looked up and straight into the smiling face of Jim Keats. There was a woman hanging on his arm and Gene recognised her too… Rhonda, from the speed dating farce. The woman who carried her knickers in her handbag.

"Professional meeting I take it?"

"That's right," Gene grunted. He couldn't force himself to admit that he had believed this to be a date. It was all clear now. A set up. Had to be. He'd been stitched up like the proverbial kipper. As he looked across at his dining companion, Gene sadly realised what a twat he'd been. She was too smart, too beautiful. At the best it was charity… at worst a cruel joke. And he had to admit at that moment his feelings were leaning towards the latter. He'd never thought she could be malicious but the evidence before his eyes seemed to suggest otherwise.

"You won't mind if we join you then? I think you know Rhonda?"

The younger man said a few words to the waiter in flawless French, at least it sounded that way to Gene's untrained ear. The waiter clicked his fingers and in thirty seconds flat a second table had been set up adjacent to their own and Gene found himself once more within Rhoda's clutches.

"Hello babes," she whispered in his ear as she ran a finger up his thigh before digging her nails into the muscle at the top of his leg.

Gene moved away so fast he almost fell off his chair.

"So do you come here often?" Keats was talking again but not to Gene or Rhoda. The bastard didn't know when to shut up.

"No… this is my first time."

"You should try the escargot they're exquisite. I'll order for all of us shall I?"

"DCI Hunt was just going to…"

"It's no problem."

Again with the French, this time making a joke with the waiter that put a smile on the young man's face. Gene just wanted to punch the stupid git. But that was the one thing he couldn't do. He had to sit there, impotent. Gene sank back in his chair and wondered if he shouldn't just let Rhonda have her wicked way with him. Her hand had returned to his thigh but his body wasn't responding. He had as much chance of getting a hard on as Boy George at a wet T-shirt competition. Gene stared morosely into his beer, trying to think of something to say but it was difficult to get a word in edgewise with Jimbo wittering on.

The snails were the final straw and Gene decided that his participation in this farce was about to come to an abrupt end. Perhaps he was just being a coward, but he couldn't sit there and watch the woman he wanted more than life itself go into orgasmic raptures over something that should have been crawling around the garden.

Excusing himself, Gene headed towards the toilets however he quickly realised that Rhonda was following. He darted into the gents but she wasn't going to be so easily diverted. Before he knew what was happening, she had him backed into a stall and her hands were busy trying to undo his trousers.

"What the bloody hell…!"

"Shhh… just enjoy. They won't even notice we're gone."

The sad thing was that she was probably right but Gene was dammed if he was going to let himself be lured into a quickie in the bogs.

"No!"

He grabbed hold of her wrists and forced her hands away.

"I wouldn't shag you if you were the last woman on this planet," he hissed.

"I'm the only chance you've got tonight, babes. That girl out there is too good for the likes of you."

And Rhonda left him standing alone in a cloud of cheap perfume and a pool of what he hoped wasn't urine. The terrible thing was that she was right and Gene knew it. He was only good for slags and tarts. One night stands. Get into their knickers and straight out again. But not with Rhonda. He still had some pride and he wasn't going to chase after her on the promise of a pity fuck. Even so, he left the gents somewhat cautiously half expecting her to be waiting to ambush him in the corridor. It was empty of people but his eye fell on the pay phone situated opposite. Suddenly Gene had an idea.


	3. Chapter 3

"Everything alright?" she asked as he sat back down at the table. He couldn't bring himself to tell her that he was having the worst date of his life. There was a mute apology in her eyes and for a moment Gene wondered if he hadn't misjudged her motives. For a brief, wonderful second her hand rested over his before he forced himself to pull away.

"I'm sorry Hunt, don't you like the snails?" Keats' voice taunted him.

"Not at all… I love molluscs me."

Buggar. Now he was going to have to eat the sodding things. As he struggled to get the snail out of his shell, he realised that yet again he was being made to look like an idiot. Still he managed to force one down… not able to taste much of anything apart from garlic. As he started on the second, Gene surreptitiously glanced at his watch. If Viv was doing his job properly then he should be getting a message right about …

"DCI Hunt?" The waiter had materialised at his side.

"Yes?"

"There is a phone call for you."

"Right. Okay."

Throwing his napkin down on the table, Gene followed the waiter to the phone. Sure enough the caller was his dedicated desk sergeant.

"Nice one, Viv," he muttered. "I owe you a pint."

"Are you sure about this Guv? DI Drake said you weren't to be disturbed."

Gene looked over to where DI Drake was laughing at something Jim Keats had whispered in her ear.

"I don't think DI Drake will mind," he said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Putting the phone down, he signalled to the waiter to bring his coat before heading back to the table.

"Sorry…Got to go," he said. "Armed blag on Dean Street. Duty calls."

"I'll come with you."

Finishing her wine she stood but Gene shook his head.

"No… Stay… enjoy your dinner. I'm sure DCI Keats will be able to see you home."

"Gene…?"

But he turned his back on her and hurried towards the door. She'd be alright. If there was one thing he had learnt about Alex Drake it was that she could look after herself. Gene was also certain that she would rather have dinner with someone who knew what wine to order and which fork to use.

He lit a cigarillo as he stepped out into the cold night air, relieved to finally get the nicotine hit he had desired for so long. The Quattro was parked a few streets away but for once he didn't mind the walk. He needed to clear his head. But it seemed that someone else had other ideas. Gene had barely walked a dozen paces before he heard hurried footsteps and a voice calling his name. She was running to catch up, unsteady on her heels, a flimsy shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

"I told you Drake, you're not needed," he sneered at her, deliberately quickening his pace.

"What about the blag?"

"There is no blag you mare!"

"What?"

"You're a smart girl. I'm sure you can work it out."

Her face seemed to crumple as realisation hit but Gene hardened his heart. He wasn't about to be taken in… not again.

"You didn't want to have dinner with me?"

"No… I didn't want to have dinner with your friend Jim. Go back to him Alex. Judging by the company he keeps he can appreciate a pissed up tart who can't keep her knickers on."

Gene expected her to punch him and for once he would have welcomed it. For some perverse reason, he wanted her to hate him … as if that would make it easier for him to cut her out of his life.

"Go!" he ordered, knowing that he sounded desperate.

"Fine! I will!"

She was crying. He could see the sparkle of the tears on her cheeks and even after everything he still wanted to kiss them away. Gene forced himself to turn from her, not able to watch her walk back to James Keats. Those long legs would be wrapped around the other man tonight, he was sure of it. He listened as the tap of her heels faded into the distance… right up to the point when she stumbled and let out a cry…


	4. Chapter 4

The elegant heel of her shoe had snapped leaving Alex Drake sat on the pavement, clutching an ankle that was already swelling and turning blue. She struggled against him, even as he tried to help and Gene couldn't tell whether she was attempting to crawl away from the pain… or from him.

"Let me see you daft cow," he said, knowing that his tone was unnecessarily harsh.

Alex relented and let him examine her ankle, wincing as he touched the injured area.

"You'll live," was Gene's conclusion. It was sprain and probably a nasty one but he didn't think it was broken.

"No thanks to you," she muttered.

"How is it my fault?"

She glared at him and Gene suddenly felt a little ashamed of himself.

"Those stupid bloody shoes you wear…," he muttered.

"Well sorry for trying to look nice!"

"You do look nice… more than nice…"

Gene coughed to cover his embarrassment. Sitting on the kerb in the freezing cold was hardly the time or the place for this, he realised. He'd missed his chance to tell her she looked beautiful. Should have done that when she first walked into the restaurant and maybe then she wouldn't have been so keen for Keats to join them.

"Anyway… best get you home."

He tried to help her up but she pushed him away.

"I can get there by myself."

And she tried. He had to give her that. Gene followed behind as she hobbled along the pavement, her ruined shoes clutched in her hand. She even attempted to hail a taxi but not one of the bastard drivers would stop. In the end Gene took pity on her, knowing that if he didn't then the impossible woman would probably try and walk all the way back to Fenchurch.

"Come on," he said as gently as he could, "The Quattro's just around the corner."

He slid an arm about her waist, letting her lean on him as they made slow progress towards the car. She was shivering in her thin wrap and her feet were white with the cold. Throwing caution to the wind, Gene scooped her up in his arms. She let out a little yelp of surprise as he did so.

"You could do with losing a few pounds, Bolly," he huffed under her weight.

"It's a good thing I didn't get to eat my dinner then."

But she felt far too thin in his arms and Gene was unpleasantly reminded of her recent stay in hospital, her three month coma… She could have done with a good meal, he realised.

"We can stop for chips on the way home if you want," he offered.

"Chips?"

"What?"

"That restaurant has a Michelin star."

"So?"

For some reason Alex started to giggle, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she fought to restrain her laughter. Gene couldn't work out what was so hilarious but he decided that having her lips smiling against his skin was more important than conversation. The fact that she still had a smile on her face as he started to drive them back home was some consolation. He put the heater on full blast, hoping that warming her feet would go some way towards warming her heart. Perhaps it did because it wasn't long before she spoke again.

"Hell of a day."

"Yeah."

It had been. No wonder really that their tempers were frayed.

"Probably should have postponed dinner," he admitted.

"Yes…"

She paused then to his immense surprise, rested her hand lightly on his thigh. Gene shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Seemed that Sergeant Rock wasn't playing dead anymore.

"We could try again?" she suggested.

"Could we Bolls?"

He looked over at her. There was something infinitely sad in her eyes, something that she would always be looking for and Gene knew it wasn't him. She removed her hand, turning her head to stare out of the window.

"There's a chip shop," she said.

Gene sighed as he brought the Quattro to a halt outside. He had his answer.

"Right… do you want mushy peas?"


	5. Chapter 5

"You're being a twat," Gene told himself as he rummaged in Alex's fridge for some ice. He couldn't fail to notice the bottle of champagne sitting there. Bollinger too… On impulse he grabbed the bottle as well as the frozen peas and took them back to where Alex was lying on the sofa with her leg propped up on a pillow.

"You'd better … er…"

He made a vague gesture and had to quickly shut his eyes as she unhooked her stocking and rolled it down her leg. Bloody woman was trying to give him a heart attack, he thought as he shoved the peas on her injured ankle. He honestly had no idea why he as doing this. Carrying her up to her flat was one thing but accepting her invitation inside was just the stupid, girly, nancy sort of thing that Tyler would have done. Gene Hunt didn't help a bird when there was no chance of getting into her knickers…

He poured them each a glass of champagne and then went back to the kitchen to sort out the paper wrapped parcels of fish and chips that were warming in the oven.

"You're a domestic god, Guv," she purred when he handed her the food.

"Don't you mean sex god?"

Alex laughed and Gene felt his self esteem drop just that little bit further. She'd effectively tied a metaphorical apron around his waist and sent him out to serve tea at the WI. He was starting to feel that she would never see him as anything other than a slightly annoying colleague. He didn't like the right music, the right food … Gene was well aware of his faults, the reasons his marriage had disintegrated but with Alex he had always thought it would be different. Working late wouldn't matter because she'd be there too. He'd be able to go to the boozer when he wanted because Alex would be with him, knocking back the red wine and getting pissed. The murders, the rapes, and those times when he had to look a woman in the eye and tell her that her baby was never coming home… somehow it would be easier to bear with Alex standing at his side. Sitting on the floor next to her sofa, taking sips of champagne and eating chips he realised that his chance had probably come and gone. Who was he kidding? He'd never had a chance.

She was very quiet as they ate, so much so that he missed the point when she fell asleep. The dribble of champagne on his shoulder was a dead giveaway though and he took the glass from her hand and removed the plate from where it rested on her lap.

"Bols… Bolly?" he said, shaking her gently.

"What?" came her mumbled reply.

"Time for bed, love. You can't sleep here."

"Help me?"

Sighing to himself, Gene climbed to his feet and held out his hand. There was a strange expression on her face when she took it… something he couldn't fathom.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing … just a memory."

"Of what?

"The first time you held my hand."

"Blimey Bols, have you been at the paint stripper again?"

"You really don't get it do you?"

"No Alex I don't. I'm knackered. Can we save the mystic mutterings until tomorrow?"

She laughed again but nodded.

"Yes, yes we can do that."

"Good. Now come on. I'll tuck you in and read you a bed time story."

Gene had been in Alex's bedroom before. There had been a couple of occasions when he had stormed in first thing in the morning to demand she got her knickers on to deal with a case. This time… this time it was different. The bed was freshly made, the sheets crisp and new. There were candles on the dressing table and a negligee lying on the bed that looked like nothing more than a couple of scraps of black lace. He felt himself harden at the thought of her wearing it… shit… He dug deep, trying to find all of his anger, his resentment.

"Expecting someone?" he sneered.

"This wasn't quite how I hoped the evening would end."

"No… I suppose not. Jimbo will be disappointed."

"Jimbo? What are you talking about?"

"Jim, James… DCI Keats. Or do you have some kind of pervy pet name for him? Mr Big? Except his dick's probably so small he couldn't keep a hamster satisfied."

For a second he thought that she was going to hit him. Alex Drake could hit as hard as a bloke and twice as accurately so he took an instinctive step backwards. But then she wobbled on her bad foot and Gene impulsively reached out to support her again.

"When will you get it into your thick Northern skull that I have no intention of shagging DCI Keats!"

"What was he doing at the bloody restaurant then?"

"I don't know!"

Her voice had reached a pitch that was almost ultrasonic. It was weird, he realised, having a blazing row with someone whilst holding them so close that they almost felt like a part of you. The same thought must have occurred to Alex. Her face softened and her hand came up to stroke his cheek, a caress so tender that he felt for a moment as if his heart had stopped. No one had ever touched him like this… no one.

"I wanted to have dinner with you Gene… no one else."

He still couldn't believe it, couldn't trust her to tell him the truth. Except that if this was a wind up then why was she still playing the game?

"Why?" he asked, "Why me?"

She moved away from him then, slipping from his grasp and sitting herself on the bed. He hoped it was just because her ankle was hurting and not because she needed to distance herself from him.

"I shot you for fuck's sake!"

"Yes you did. You also called me a liar, a bad mother… "

"Shit. Don't remind me."

For a second he felt like he was married again. His ex-wife had been an expert at pointing out every misdemeanour but Alex reached out and took his hand, guiding him to sit beside her.

"… and you saved my life," she said quietly.

He looked down at their joined hands, the way her fingers twined with his, stroking, caressing…

"I should go."

"Stay."

She almost sounded as if she meant it.

"I might never leave," he growled.

Kissing her was easy. He only had to bend his head a little.

"I might not want you to," her lips whispered against his.

Gene took a chance, softly grabbing her breast, marvelling at the feel and the weight of it in his hand. She let out a little gasp and he finally realised that she wanted this …

… she wanted him.

And he loved her for it.


	6. Chapter 6

Gene awoke to an empty bed but his frustration was quickly tempered by the scent of bacon frying. He grinned to himself as he stretched, trying to work the ache out of his muscles. Glancing across at the alarm clock, he realised that he had slept for far longer than he had meant to, it was almost midday. Still, it was Saturday and there was nowhere else he had to be. He couldn't help grinning as he remembered the previous night. Whatever happened next, Gene knew he was a lucky bastard. Alex had been everything he had expected… and more, but it wasn't something he wanted to put into words. She had been so responsive to him and Gene struggled to recall a time when he had found sex satisfying on something other than a physical level. Who was he kidding? Rolling over he buried his face in her pillow, breathing in her scent and not caring that he was being a soppy git. There was no denying it… she had him by the balls.

He wanted to stay exactly where he was but expecting Bolly to bring him breakfast in bed was probably a bit of a stretch. Besides he was ravenous and there was always a chance that she would be willing to go another round on the kitchen table. Gene didn't bother searching for his clothes. He was fairly sure that she wouldn't want him wandering around naked and her dressing gown was hanging on the back of the bedroom door so he wrapped that around him. But as his hand rested on the handle, Gene suddenly became aware of voices in the room beyond. At first he thought it was the television or the radio but his heart sank as he recognised the male voice.

"I just wanted to make sure that you got home safely…"

Keats. Bastard.

"Yes I did… as you can see," Alex's voice replied.

Gene thought he could hear annoyance in her tone, the strained politeness that she usually reserved for superior officers who were being dickheads.

"You're limping…You're hurt."

"It's nothing. Sir, this really isn't a good time. I'm supposed to be off duty."

"I know. I was just wondering… God, I'm not usually this nervous… Could I buy you dinner? Sometime?"

Once again Gene had to fight the urge to punch the twat and he would have done it too… if he suddenly hadn't had a better idea. Opening the door, he strolled into the kitchen. He didn't acknowledge Keats' presence at first, making a point to greet Alex with a kiss. Not a full on snog, just an intimate little brush of his lips against hers. He slid an arm about her waist,

"Morning love," he whispered, enjoying the shiver that ran through her body as his breath caressed her skin. Only then did he turn to Keats,

"Something we can do for you, Jimbo?" he asked.

The other man's face was dark for a second and then he spoke again.

"Did you get what we needed?" he addressed Alex. "Information about Tyler… as we agreed."

Gene held onto her a little tighter, not wanting to accept what Keats was saying. He couldn't believe it. Not after last night. She wouldn't have slept with him if she didn't trust him. That wasn't the Alex he knew… or at least the Alex he thought he knew.

"She thinks you murdered him."

"No… no… Gene I…"

The panic on her face was real enough and Gene's arm fell from her waist. As much as he wanted to deny it, Keats' words had a ring of truth. She'd been banging on about Tyler for weeks. Gene hadn't been joking when he said it wasn't a subject for small talk. He wouldn't talk about Tyler… couldn't talk about it. Still hurt too much.

"Why are you doing this?" she appealed to Keats.

"You deserve to know the truth, Alex."

The man's voice was gentle; as if he had her best interests at heart.

"Truth?"

"About what he did to Sam Tyler… to DC Cartwright …"

For some reason, Gene couldn't bring himself to speak, to defend himself. He couldn't understand why he stood there as Keats moved closer to Alex

"Annie?" she questioned.

"There have been so many, Alex."

She frowned.

"But Annie…"

Then the bastard touched her, cupping her face in his hands, brushing his thumb over her lips.

"Alex…" the word was torn from Gene's throat. He was pleading with her, begging. All his wants and desires were encapsulated in that one word. She turned to him, meeting his eyes for a second before drawing her fist back and punching him squarely on the jaw.

"What the bloody hell was that for!" he demanded, shocked out of his impotence.

"Interesting, don't you think," she said, her voice almost devoid of emotion, staring at him as if he were some kind of laboratory specimen. "He's made no attempt to hit me back."

"What do you mean?"

It seemed as if she had confused Keats as well. Gene was glad he wasn't the only one… and that Jimbo wasn't as smart as he pretended.

"Any cursory psyche assessment would show that Gene Hunt does not possess homicidal tendencies," she went on. "And as for suggesting that he would physically hurt a woman… quite frankly that's just a pathetic attempt on your part to make up for your woeful lack of testosterone."

"Don't do this, Alex," Keats warned.

"I'd like you to leave now."

"You don't know what he's capable of!"

"The lady wants you to go," Gene said quietly.

"What no threats? No…. I'm going to kill you?" Keats sneered. "Oooo I'm so frightened of the big bad Manc Lion. Look at you… dressed like a girl."

"And you're dressed like a twat."

It wasn't the most original of comebacks but Gene had reached the point where he didn't care. He wanted the man gone.

"I had sex with a beautiful woman last night. What did you do? Wank into a jazz mag?"

Keats, however, ignored the insult, turning his attention back to Alex.

"I hope you know what you're doing Alex."

"I do."

"And you won't live to regret your decision… or die by it."

He walked out of the flat, leaving them silent and uncomfortable in his wake.

"Come here, Bols," Gene said, wrapping his arms around her, bringing her head to rest on his shoulder. He could feel her body shaking and he realised that she was far less composed than she had appeared.

"You didn't kill him, did you?"

"No."

"Tell me what happened."

"Alex…"

"Not now… I mean someday."

He couldn't reply, just hugged her hard but Gene had the feeling that he had to leave. She needed some space, maybe they both did. Letting her go he returned to the bedroom to find his clothes. God he looked like shit, he realised when he was once more dressed in his crumpled suit… badly in need of a shower and a shave. The happy afterglow had vanished and the self-doubt had returned. As he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror Gene could believe that this want she wanted.

Alex was still in the kitchen when he got back, arms clutched across her stomach, she didn't look as if she'd moved very far. She was thinking hard, he could tell by the small frown on her face. Never a good combination as far as Gene was concerned.

He bent and placed a rather chaste kiss on her cheek.

"Right… See you later then."

"Yes … Later…Gene?"

"What?"

"About last night …"

Gene closed his eyes, waiting for what he thought was the inevitable brush off. It was either that or she wanted to 'talk'. At that moment he couldn't decide which option he preferred.

"What about it?" he asked, trying to sound as if he didn't care.

"Do you really think I'm beautiful?"

He looked back at her, surprised that she had to ask.

"Yes Bols, I do," and he offered her a rare smile. "Always have."

She stepped towards him, undoing the buttons on the shirt she was wearing and all Gene could do was watch as she bared herself to him.

"Say it again," she breathed.

"You're beautiful Alex."

And then, it seemed, they no longer had any need for words.

Gene didn't actually get out of the door until some time later, on a promise to return as soon as.

He lit up as he hurried down the stairs, determined to make it back in record time. It was the first fag he'd been able to have for hours. Not that he minded. It seemed that shagging Alex eliminated his need for nicotine. He paused when he reached the street outside, looking up at the window of the flat like some stupid ponce who was about to burst into song.

"The game's still on," a voice said. "You haven't won."

He turned to see James Keats step out of the shadows. Gene smirked and then punched him in the gut. Sod taking the higher ground… fuck being the better man. Keats was really pissing him off.

"I think you'll find I have … Goodbye Jimbo."

Yes, victory was sweet. He'd probably screw this up but all Gene knew was that, for now, he had Alex. He had something worth fighting for.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

**The End**


End file.
